Running in Circles
by spicehnoodles
Summary: "This ... This is wrong," she whispered. But he didn't stop, and she didn't stop. And because of that, they were in too deep — even if they didn't care at the moment.
1. Entering

The minute she had entered the class, Duncan thought she was just your ordinary teacher. Conservative clothing, simple hairstyle, small luggage, textbooks and documents, and exhausted features – all of those clearly screamed out what she was.

Her heels clacked against the floor, echoing slightly in the hushed room. Shockingly, the classroom was eerily quiet. They had had new teachers and substitutes for the past few months, and they all usually didn't give a second look at he or she. It was strange on how _everyone_ – both genders – was paying close attention to the young woman before them.

Duncan observed their new teacher more. Her jet black hair, which he knew was dyed, was in a half ponytail, rebellious strands falling down over her pale face quite stylishly. She had no make-up on whatsoever, though he could detect some eyeliner and light lipstick. She was skinny, incredibly so, but she had a tiny waist, which he often found attractive.

It was obvious.

Of course she had their full-on attention. She was pretty damn attractive – and young. He estimated she was about 28-years-old. In their high school, every single teacher was either in their mid-thirties, early forties, or, even worse, their fifties and up. The youngest teacher was 31-years-old, but Mrs. Hansen wasn't all that _pleasing to the eye _especially since she stammered and twitched a lot.

Their new teacher dumped all of her belongings on top of the mahogany desk. She let out a sigh of relief and stretched her arms. She popped her neck to the side, and Duncan raised a pierced eyebrow at that. She furtively glimpsed at her students and mumbled something to herself. She smoothed out her pencil skirt – Duncan thought it looked unsuitable for her; her legs weren't something to stare at considering how skinny they were – and put on a tentative smile.

"Hey, guys," she greeted. "I'm your new history teacher _for now _since Mrs. Johnston is on maternity leave for who-knows-how-long. I was originally supposed to be the new art teacher, but they told me to fill in for her in the meantime … " She scowled, realized that she did, and forced a smile. "Anyways, I hope that everything will go smoothly."

"Aren't you going to tell us your name?" Heather asked from the back rather snobbishly. Typical Heather.

The teacher's smile turned sickly sweet. "My name is Miss Matthews."

"And your first?" some random guy called out.

Miss Matthews glanced at him with a rather annoyed look and didn't answer him.

Duncan sighed, getting bored.

Throughout the rest of the period, Miss Matthews wrote down tedious notes on the board. It seemed Mrs. Johnston sent her the list of assignments, projects, and notes they were eventually going to do as time goes on. Although their history teacher was on maternity leave, they still had to do work, unfortunately. And Miss Matthews didn't give the impression of an pushover.

Unsurprisingly, Duncan didn't pay any attention whatsoever and didn't take any notes. He had placed his earphones in, had picked a song he felt like listening, and had drowned himself in his loud tunes. He didn't bring his binder, notebook, or any source of writing utensil, anyways.

As usual, someone brave enough tapped Duncan on the shoulder to inform him that the bell rang. The person was some female classmate of his, and she sat next to him all the time. He didn't know if she did that because she wasn't intimidated by him – which she _should _be – liked him, or preferred that seat.

Duncan got up and walked over to the door, heading out.

He saw Miss Matthews looking through some papers stapled together. He heard tiny grumblings coming out of her mouth. He noticed she had a scowl on her face as she skimmed through the papers. She rolled her eyes from time to time, too. She saw him looking at her.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked in a slightly disgruntled tone.

Duncan merely brushed off the question and exited the classroom. He took out his iPod and changed the song. He placed his iPod back inside his pocket and trudged slowly down the hallway.

He felt like skipping his classes already. Lunchtime seemed so far away in his perspective. For some reason, his patience was thinner than a strand of hair. He wanted to get out of this confinement, get into his truck, and drive away, as far as he could. He was highly tempted to drive over to one of his bud's house and crash over there forever. Put simply, he just felt … extremely tired of everything.

He stopped walking to his class and leaned back against one of the lockers, eyes shutting close. The cool metallic soothed the back of his head partially, but the hard surface was uncomfortable. He took out his iPod, eyes still closed, and turned up the volume. He wanted to kick away the mindless, irritating chattering surrounding him.

He was almost lost in his music when he suddenly heard something muffled underneath the thrashing beat.

He felt consistent tapping on his right shoulder, each tap increasing with great force. Annoyed by the disruption, he snapped his eyes open and saw the culprit. A heated feeling rose up his throat, but he swallowed it down. He took off one earphone.

"You're leaning against my locker," Courtney said sharply.

He glanced to the side, refusing to look at her, sighed heavily, and got off her locker. He put his earphone back on. He shoved his hands inside his pockets and walked off somewhere thoughtlessly.

Duncan's mood worsened tenfold. Now he _really _wanted to skip his classes. His next class was English 12 – he wondered how he passed his previous English classes even though he knew the answer – and he wasn't all that eager to face his teacher. He hadn't done any of his homework, and he refused to be reprimanded again and again. If he stayed here any longer, he would have to enter his most hated class … math class.

The bell rang.

The delinquent made a quick decision. He was already heading for the doors, heading for freedom, when the principal entered the doors. She narrowed her eyes at him underneath her spectacles and gestured for him to go to class with her index finger. He muttered a string of profanities directed at her and went the other direction.

* * *

><p>Lunchtime was lunchtime – nothing special. Duncan merely ate with his school buddies: Geoff and his friends. Duncan knew Geoff ever since their middle school days; he considered him as a good friend. But whenever he was with him, Geoff's annoying friends would suddenly pop up from somewhere and be all loud. He was used to Geoff's boisterous tone, but if you tripled his tone with a bunch of other annoying ones … you would want to rip their jaws off. Geoff's little friends also thought that they were buddy-buddy with Duncan, which he didn't particularly like. He only hung out with them, because Geoff was there and he couldn't do anything about it.<p>

Duncan was walking down the hallways when all of a sudden, Cody, the definition of the word _geek_, came up beside him, smiling and show the gap between his teeth.

"'Sup, Duncan," Cody greeted, trying to look all suave. He was attempting to walk like Duncan, but he looked like a twitching monkey. "How's it goin'?"

The pierced teen ignored the short teen and continued walking. He certainly didn't want to be dealing with _him _of all people. Duncan thought his intimidating aura would keep away even the largest geeks, but apparently his geek repellant was wearing off.

"It's goin' good? Good, good … ," the brown-haired boy continued, oblivious to Duncan's annoyed expression. "Hey, I heard you have a new history teacher – or she's actually just filling in for Mrs. Johnston. I also heard that … " – he leaned in closer, irritating the punk more; he _hated _it when people invaded his personal space – "she's a freakin' _hottie_! She was supposed to be the new art teacher, and I was hoping she would be. Since I have art with you, we could both stare at her hotness. We're friends, aren't – ?"

Hearing the word "friends," Duncan growled and halted. He grabbed Cody by the front of his shirt and lifted him up until he was a couple of inches above the ground. He was highly tempted to throw him all the way to China or farther. Cody's eyes widened at the abrupt action. He leaned in, glaring hard and icily through his wide eyes.

_"Shut your damn mouth already," _he said menacingly.

He let go of Cody's shirt and walked away. He felt a spark of delight at what just happened. It had been a while since he last threatened anyone or bullied anyone. He was too busy moping and acting as if a pile of shit dropped on him.

The art classroom's door was opened, so Duncan just glided in without doing any work. He was slightly surprised he wasn't late, but then again he had been doing actions he wasn't accustomed to.

As soon as he took his seat, he noticed Miss Matthews in the classroom. She was gazing upon the portraits the students in the past years had created. He saw her dark eyes stare intently at them as if she were absorbing in every single little detail. At times, she would look quite disturbed; other times, she would look impressed.

His art teacher, Mr. Knowles, came in with a pile of art supplies. He placed the art supplies in the tray and ordered a student to pass one supply each. He erased the chalkboard quickly – Duncan could see droplets of perspiration spitting everywhere – looking incredibly fatigued. He turned around and perceived that Miss Matthews was here, unaware that the bell rang.

"Miss Matthews," he called.

She didn't seem to hear him. She was busy looking at a model sculpture of a bat.

Mr. Knowles sighed exasperatedly. "Miss Matthews," he called louder.

She jumped slightly and whipped her head towards the teacher. "Yeah – uh, yes, Mr. Knowles?" she inquired.

"The bell rang; you're late for your class."

Miss Matthews looked behind her and saw the handful of students sitting in their seats. She hissed. She started leaving hastily, apologizing once to Mr. Knowles.

Mr. Knowles shook his head. "Only her first day and she's already late for her class. It's like she's still a student," he grumbled out loud. He stood up straight and clapped his hands together, the sound reverberating in the large classroom. "All right, guys – we have a big day ahead of us! Remember: we only have less than four months of school left, so there will be a lot of work! Just don't procrastinate and work hard; you'll succeed! Some of you guys are seniors in here, so I expect you to work harder than your fellow underclassmen!"

_Yeah, like that'll happen_, Duncan thought, rolling his eyes. He put in his earphones and began listening to his music.

Of course Mr. Knowles, fully informed about Duncan's insubordinate behavior, confiscated his iPod. He admonished him and gave him three sketching paper. Unlike the others who were supposed to sketch and draw the building assigned to them, he was supposed to do that _and _draw two animals. It had to be centered and shaded in accurately, or else he'd have to do it again and again.

"Damn it," Duncan muttered and reluctantly began his seatwork assignment.

His mind wandered off, and all of a sudden, he was pondering about Miss Matthews. He wondered if she was a good artist. The way her eyes speculated the artwork around the room gave off a feeling that she could see everything, artistically-wise. She could most likely detect even the smallest mistakes. But he knew he shouldn't assume that since he never even saw her art.

Miss Matthews was a young woman. He was bewildered why someone so young became a teacher so fast. Maybe she was extremely intellectual and got her teaching license way ahead of time. But he didn't see her as a genius. Since she was so young, shouldn't she be enjoying life instead of pursuing her dreams so fast? She would get bored eventually; she would regret her decisions.

Duncan cursed under his breath. This was what he gets for being so unlike himself. He was too occupied thinking about his new teacher and being so philosophical. _He _himself should enjoy life since he was only eighteen-years-old.

What was wrong with him? He hadn't pulled any pranks, and he never once thought about the senior prank he would pull with Geoff. He had had tons and tons of plans for his senior year. During the beginning of his year, he had been having the time of his life. He had played around with his teachers, hung out with his buddies outside and inside of school, and basically had done everything he had wanted.

Now, he felt so out of it. He didn't joke around with anyone anymore. He didn't playfully flirt with the girls anymore. He didn't skip classes anymore. He didn't feel as close with Geoff anymore. He didn't cause that much trouble anymore. He felt like he was stuck inside a room, the walls a barrier to reality. He honestly didn't feel like himself. It was like someone stripped off his personality.

Fortunately, the bell rang. Looking down, he saw that his drawings were full of vulgarity and inappropriate images. The feeling of delight from earlier increased, and he almost felt like grinning. He saw everyone placing their drawings inside the tray. Immediately, he gathered his drawings together and pushed people to the side to get to the front. As soon as it was his turn to put the papers, he hastily shoved his underneath the stack so his teacher wouldn't see it. Feeling triumphant, he exited the classroom.

He was going to get back into the game. He was crushing his pride way too much, and it was going to stop. He was tired of moping and moping. He was tired of being tired of everything. He was going to redeem himself. Threatening Cody and tricking the teacher weren't the beginning of it all. He was going to be Duncan. He was going to make sure everybody knows who he was, even that new teacher of his.

Duncan yawned. _Damn, I'm crashed_, he thought. His eyes slid over to the doors that screamed out freedom. He shrugged and started heading to those doors. Some people that were walking the opposite direction gave him wondering looks. He glared at all of them, frightening them. The delight sprung up, heightening and heightening. He opened the doors and embraced the fresh air.

Teal eyes narrowed towards his pickup truck. He started making a bee-line to towards his vehicle when all of a sudden, he saw someone leaning up against the wall from the right side. It was Miss Matthews. One foot was planted on the wall, making her pencil skirt ride up her small thighs. Her head was craned upwards, exposing her slender neck, letting the sunshine shine on it.

"Fuck my life," Duncan heard her moan for everyone to hear.

And, for the first time in months, a smirk slithered its way on his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>AN —**

**Ugh, this chapter is the crappiest crap in my crappin' life. -.-  
><strong>

**No, I'm not suddenly a D&G fan now. This story is purely DRAMA, not ROMANCE. I mean, there would be bits of romance here and there, but it's not _focused _on it. And just because I'm a hardcore D&C fan doesn't mean that I'll suddenly write a lot of fluff and sexy scenes of them.**

**Read on & find out.**

**Hope you lovelies enjoy! ❤  
><strong>


	2. Hi, My Name Is Trouble

Gwen certainly didn't feel like a teacher. She more felt like she was a high school student again. She was surrounded by shallow, arrogant, idiotic, and annoying people. The smell of horrible personalities mixed in with it. There were teachers she wanted to snap at, and there were teachers she wanted to hide from. Even though she wasn't the one who has to take the notes, she _still _had to write them on the whiteboard. Whenever she would wake up to go to work – _school_ – she would want to go back to sleep and wake up until it was the afternoon.

She never thought she would be a teacher. Since she absolutely despised high school, even though it had had its ups at times, it was pretty clear she wouldn't want to become a teacher. It seemed like a torturous job in her perspective. But she was in love with art as if it were her beau, and she had an urge to teach students how amazing art can be.

She didn't think she would teach at a high school, though. She assumed she would be stationed at an elementary school or middle school. Unfortunately, there hadn't been any openings. The only opening was at the high school she was currently teaching at. The principal had had agreed for her to work at her school, _unless _– damn it, she _loathed _it when there was a condition – she covered for Mrs. Johnston. The principal had promised a job as an art teacher at their high school or somewhere else for her until Mrs. Johnston comes back.

If the principal hadn't mentioned about promising a job as an art teacher, Gwen wouldn't have accepted _at all_.

To top it all off, there was a brown-haired geek who kept on pestering her. Gwen knew the guy – what was his name, Cory? – had a creepy crush on him. Every time she entered the school doors, he would suddenly appear out of nowhere and greet her. He would deepen his voice, sounding a lot like a retarded Darth Vader, and waggle his eyebrows. He would try to act all smooth and boast about his gadget collection. His tooth-gapped smile was quite adorable, but other than that, she was always uncomfortable around him. He was like a pesky fly – something she wanted to swat away.

Gwen fumbled with her belongings as she tried to open the door to her classroom. Finally, she opened it and left it ajar. She sighed and carelessly dumped her stuff on the desk. She placed the palms of her hands on the desk, leaned forward, and breathed in and out slowly. She glanced upwards and saw a full-length mirror across from her.

_Why is there a mirror in here? _Then Heather's face crawled in her mind. _Of course. It must be the bitch's doing._

Heather reminded her of the snobs back in high school – except she was the whole package. She was incredibly disrespectful – _cough_, bitchy, _cough_ – and stuck-up. Her family was wealthy. She, apparently, was intelligent in some areas – or more like conniving. She had "followers" – slaves – copying her every move and every action. She had some of the teachers wrapped around her pinkie. She could practically manipulate someone so easily just to get what she wanted.

Ugh, it was sickening.

Gwen stood in front of the mirror and gazed at her reflection. She was wearing a simple blue polo shirt and black slacks, along with black flats. Her hair was done in a half-ponytail again.

Her pale hand stroked her black locks.

She missed her teal highlights and her short haircut. Now, her hair was almost medium-length – her follicles had the speed of a snail – and layered. Since she was a teacher, she had to maintain a conservative look. No highlights and no corsets. It was a living nightmare for her.

She missed wearing her Goth clothing. Although she was already 27-years-old, she still maintained her Goth looks. Of course she matured outwardly and inwardly, but she could never betray her Gothic self. She wanted to wear long black skirts and combat boots. She wanted to wear corsets and tight tank-tops that showed her navel. She wanted to wear her dark lipstick and dark eye shadow.

"This … sucks," Gwen announced dully, grimacing at her reflection.

She felt her cellphone vibrate against her thigh. Without taking her dark eyes off of her reflection, she took out her cellphone. Then, when she was finished grimacing at her appearance, her eyes slid downwards to her cellphone and saw that she had an incoming call. She flipped her cellphone open.

It was from Pixie Corpse, one of Gwen's close friends. _"Hey, you still going to the Dusk?" _she asked immediately.

Gwen quickly replied back, "Yeah, I am. I'll be there ASAP."

Pixie snickered. _"Good. Reaper really wants you to be there."_

She groaned, scowling. She had been extremely close with Reaper until he began liking her. He wasn't the type to hit on girls and flirt around shamelessly, but when he _really _liked a girl, he would forget the term "personal space" and try to charm you.

"Superb."

She snickered again. _"Haha. He's getting ready now, ya know."_

She rolled her eyes. "What the hell? The Dusk opens at eleven. It's only seven-something."

_"The dude's stupid."_

"No, the dude's insane."

_"Well said, Gwen. See you tonight."_

"Yeah, definitely. I'll show up wearing my crappy teacher clothes so Reaper won't recognize me," Gwen joked.

_"Oh, he'll recognize you. The guy's known you for years."_

"Damn it, you're right." She hissed, cursing excessively mentally.

_"Good luck. Bye."_

"Yeah, bye." She flipped her cell shut and shoved it in her pocket.

The world officially hated her. Firstly, she had to work at this stupid confinement and deal with drama queens, steroid freaks, wannabes, and idiots. Secondly, she had to dye her hair completely black, not wear any of her makeup, and wear ghastly clothing. Thirdly, she had a creepy stalker with flirting issues. And fourthly, she had to go to a club she actually sort of _liked _and have it ruined by her infatuated "friend."

Doors opened, and footsteps started coming in. The teachers were pouring in now, and soon, the teenagers would be pouring in. The peaceful-seeming building was now going to be contaminated with freaks.

But then again, she was a freak herself, so she shouldn't be such a hypocrite.

Gwen walked over to her desk and opened the drawer. She spotted the key to the door and took it. She closed the drawer and departed the room, locking it in the process. She started heading towards the main office. She was in dire need for some coffee, and, although their coffee was quite generic, it was hot and kept her awake.

As soon as she arrived, she immediately saw the teachers chatting amongst each other and some bustling about. Gwen felt odd being in this room. They all gave off a professional air, and they all looked like … adults, to put it simply. She was an adult, but she never even felt like she was an adult. It was like she was trapped in a cage; she couldn't escape and embrace her adultness. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she wanted to officially _be _one.

She grabbed a cup of coffee from the table and hastily made her way to the exit. Unfortunately, a P.E. teacher, Mr. Pearson, blocked her way, smiling nicely.

"Whoa, what's the rush here, Gwen?" he joked, chuckling quite a bit.

She scrambled for an answer. "Oh, um, I was going to my classroom, Mr. Pearson. I have a lot of … things to prepare for my students," she lamely answered.

He chuckled again; it started to irk her. How could he be so bright so early in the morning and surrounded by hormonal students, too? "Gwen, I told you – you can call me Bill. I don't mind. During classes and such, we have to call each other by our respective surnames. But when we're around our fellow teachers, we can act casual with each other. It's all right. And anyways, we still have a lot of time to stay in here to mingle and relax before a hard, grueling day of work. You can stay here for just a few more minutes, can't ya?" He gave her a look she didn't particularly like. It had an enticing feeling coming off of it. Was he trying to charm her?

Okay, Gwen couldn't deny it. Bill was actually very attractive. He had a muscular physique, and he was a P.E. teacher, so that explained everything. He had a crew haircut as if he had just come from the army. He had some chiseled features. He was always smiling, and, from what she had heard from the other teachers, he was a great teacher and had a great personality. His students adored him, and that was saying something since teenagers nowadays weren't too fond of their teachers.

He wasn't her type, though – not like she had one.

"I'm gonna go now," she mumbled. She pushed her way past him and went straight to the doors, ignoring Bill's calls.

After she exited the room, she let out a breath.

In high school, she hadn't been a loner for no good reason. It wasn't like she _wanted _to be a loner; it's just that a lot of people had irritated the living hell out of her – they still do – and she was pretty much a social freak. She hadn't been a complete loner since she had Reaper, Pixie Corpse, and Marilyn. Actually, if it hadn't been for Reaper, she wouldn't have had friends whatsoever in high school.

She cursed at the thought of Reaper. She owed him a lot, but now she didn't want to even be within a yard near him. Why the hell did he have to start liking her?

Soon, it was time for classes. While Gwen was writing down the notes for the test coming a week from now, some students entered the classroom with their friends or alone. She remembered the same students that liked to come in early and those that liked to come in two minutes before the tardy bell rang. The once tranquil room was now filled with loud chattering.

She closed the door as soon as everyone came in. She walked to the front, behind her desk.

"As you all know, your test is coming up. I've written down some study notes that will help you prepare for this test. It's thirty percent of your grade, so you guys better study hard. As soon as you're done copying these notes, come up and grab some worksheets and the rubric for your project. Start now," Gwen announced. Her words sounded rehearsed, which they were. She practiced what she would say in front of the class so she wouldn't stumble over her words or accidentally utter "Um," "I guess," "Whatever," and other words teenagers liked to add into their speech automatically.

During the time they wrote down their notes, she took attendance. She memorized the students' names and faces now. Even though she wasn't glad to be a teacher in a room containing annoying personalities, she still had to do her job or else the principal won't find a job as an art teacher for her.

She then scowled when she saw Heather texting on her phone rather than writing down notes.

"Heather, why aren't you writing down the notes?" Gwen asked her. She tried to sound level-headed like she usually was, but this girl always made her aggravated. Just seeing her face was enough to make her explode mentally.

The Asian teenager didn't look up from her phone. "Beth is doing it for me," she replied simply.

Gwen spotted Beth with two notebooks, having difficulty writing down the notes. The notes Gwen had written down covered a majority of the whiteboard. Beth's hand would be aching as soon as she finished.

"Beth, why are you doing Heather's notes? What, are you her slave?"

Beth's eyes widened underneath her large glasses. "Um, but, Mi-_th _Matthew-_th_ – !" she began explaining.

"She _offered _to write it down for me. Since she wanted to write down my notes, I made her. I was only being nice," Heather interjected, faux sweetness coated around her tone. "What's so wrong about that?"

Gwen had to bite her tongue to stop from lashing out improper sentences. "Do your own work, Heather. Or else I'll make you stay back and write down the notes yourself. Maybe I'll even add more. Would you like that? Better yet, I'll make you write down Beth's notes for her. If you don't want that, quit texting your boyfriend and get your notebook back from Beth."

Heather gave her a nasty look. She seized her purse and dumped her phone in. Without looking at Beth, she snatched her notebook and began writing down her notes. Gwen saw that her grip was tight.

Inconspicuously, Gwen rolled her eyes. _Bitch_, she thought.

She sighed, grumbling to herself, and finished up taking attendance. She noticed that Duncan LeRoy wasn't here.

Her onyx eyes slid over to the seat Duncan sat at. Bridgette Travers sat next to him, writing down her notes. She was a new student, transferring a few days before she worked at the school. She was the person who tried to grab Duncan's attention whenever he wasn't paying any attention due to the fact that he _always _had his earphones on.

And because of that, Gwen _always _had to reprimand him. He would roll his eyes at her and then smirk. He would say that he didn't have a pencil or his notebook, and Gwen would tell him to borrow a pencil and paper from someone and transfer his notes to his notebook when he got home, which she was sure he wouldn't do at all.

She wondered about him sometimes. During her first day, when she first had seen him, she had seen this lost look in his eyes. There had been this cloudy mist covering his eyes. It had been like he was trying to find his way out of a foggy labyrinth in her eyes.

Gwen shook her head. Why was she thinking so deeply about a guy, a teenager no less?

"Kid's probably sick," she mumbled under her breath. She closed her attendance folder and went off to her desk.

* * *

><p>Gwen was always highly impressed with underground clubs. She liked how they could keep all the updates and parties on the down low. They were filled with people she actually tolerated. The people who were informed about the secret clubs were all right, too. None of them were trash-talkers, plastics, arrogant jerks, and obsessed partygoers. They all had acceptable personalities, and she could relate to a majority of them.<p>

She got out of her car, holding her cell phone with her right hand in case Pixie Corpse, Marilyn, or Reaper texted her. She wasn't … particularly eager on receiving a text or call from Reaper, but she needed to know the info regarding the Dusk – for example, the time, password, and the theme. It would be embarrassing if she came at the wrong time. If she didn't know the password, of course she wouldn't be able to have access inside. And if she wore fancy Goth clothing when the theme was casual, she would stick out like a sore thumb. Underground clubs had a lot of expectations. But the people and the club overall were worth it every time.

Her phone buzzed, and she checked it. She grimaced when she saw that it was Reaper who texted her. _You here now? The password's "Robbing the drink machine." See you there, Gwen._

Reaper sounded so … Reaper in a text. She greatly missed that.

_Who the hell comes up with these passwords? _Gwen thought, memorizing the password without fail. She wasn't allowed to refer to her cell for help when approaching the door. It was considered as "cheating," which was absolutely ridiculous in her view. But if she _were _to refer to her cell, they would instantly find out, because you only had about three seconds to answer.

She stood in front of the door that looked like a janitor's closet. She kicked the door with her boot once. She verified that no one was near her or saw her by looking both ways quickly.

Someone responded by pounding the door three times.

"Robbing the drink machine," Gwen shouted hastily; she almost stumbled with her words. "Now, let me in before someone sees me."

The door opened, and a hand grabbed her by the arm so fast she didn't have any idea what was going on. The place was almost pitch-black; there was someone playing with their iTouch on the side. The person who seized her cussed and dragged her somewhere else. Another door opened. She was pushed inside.

Immediately, Gwen took in her new surroundings. There was an upbeat tempo that was deafening and nearly tore down the walls. There were people dancing in the middle of the dance floor, grinding up against each other as if they were having sex. A bar was at the side, extending across from her with a bunch of people chugging their drinks. At her right side were circular tables and matching chairs scattered everywhere. A bunch of people placed the tables together to make a long table. A female was lying down on it, stomach exposed, and a guy was putting salt on her belly. Everyone was wearing black, which was the theme: The Black Mania.

"You're late," a voice said in her ear.

Gwen turned to the side and saw Marilyn with her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a tight black dress that stopped at her mid-thigh and fishnet stockings, along with laced stiletto boots. Her flat pink hair was now gelled up, and her Gothic makeup was still as smoky and dark as ever. She never failed to wear her choker, as well.

"You're just too early," she joked.

Marilyn rolled her eyes at her and gestured for her to follow. They passed by the table of shots and headed down the hallway to the backrooms. The lighting became dim. The music vanished all of a sudden. As she walked down, there were doors on every side. Some were closed; some were open, showing a private party or couples having major sex. Marilyn suddenly stopped walking as they hit the end of the hallway. She banged on the door twice.

"Open the damn door, Reaper! I told you to lock it when Gwen was here, damn idiot!" she shouted.

Door opened, Reaper came out, glaring at Marilyn. His crazy hair was spiked all the way up as usual. He wore a long-sleeved shirt that pronounced his torso, and it had rips along the sleeve part. He wore regular black jeans and large combat boots, as well. Wristbands suffocated his wrists. Piercings covered his ears. He noticed Gwen and grinned.

"Hey, Gwen. Received my text?" he inquired, appraising her outfit. He seemed to approve it, but his eyes kept looking at her chest. The corset she was wearing showed her chest very well.

Gwen gave him a dry look. "Obviously I wouldn't be here if I didn't," she retorted rudely. She pushed her way past him and saw Pixie Corpse sipping some wine.

Pixie Corpse worse a long black dress that spilled around her legs on the floor. It had a sweetheart neckline, but the neckline was torn at the edges. Her cleavage showed profoundly. She had a choker with a cross dangling from it. She made a beaded necklace into a bracelet around her right wrist, and it expanded from there to the insert of her elbow.

Gwen walked over to her and sat down on one of the plushy sofas. She grabbed a wine glass and poured herself some wine.

"Thought you were showing up in teacher rags?" Pixie Corpse asked, smirking, her purple hair falling back as she sat up.

"Maybe next time." Gwen smirked. "How long have you guys been here?"

Reaper appeared next to her, sitting too close for comfort. "Just a few minutes. I came by myself. Pixie and Marilyn rode together – as usual," he informed her.

Marilyn strode in and sat down on the table next to the drinks. She put her left leg over her right thigh. "What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

He made himself comfortable and placed his arms at the back of the sofa. His left arm was just behind Gwen's head. Gwen made a slight noise of disgust and scooted away.

"Admit it – you guys are lesbians."

Pixie Corpse gave him the middle finger. "Screw you, Reaper," she sneered. "Mar and I live close to each other, that's why."

He snorted, moving closer to Gwen. "Yeah, sure. Then how come you're always having your little sleepovers with Marilyn almost every night? Probably screwin' each other, eh?"

Gwen snickered. "You're just like that 'cause you yourself aren't getting some," she taunted.

He smiled flirtatiously at her. "Maybe you'd like to help me with that?"

Her mood dampened even more. His flirts were annoying, and she really wanted to shut him up. She _clearly _didn't return the same feelings – why couldn't he see that? They've been friends for years. It was like those years were filled with empty memories, and he still couldn't understand her without words. It seemed as if he knew she didn't like him, and he was trying to see if she would _eventually _start liking him. And if it were that, he should give up immediately.

Gwen thought about cutting off ties with him, but she couldn't do that. No matter what, Reaper would always, always, _always _be one of her closest friends. He was one of the few that she could actually open to – not completely open to, but she could express her "feelings" to a point. He was like her annoying little brother. She disliked him almost every day, but she loved him to bits.

"Suck a whore," she spat at him. She downed her glass and poured herself another.

Reaper sighed exaggeratingly. He conspicuously moved closer to her until their thighs were touching. "Don't know 'bout that, but _I'm _free for a little su – "

She couldn't take it anymore. She stood up and slammed her glass on the table. She left the room, muttering about how much she wished he could go to hell and rot there. Her ears heard Pixie Corpse yelling at him with multiples of vulgarity sewn in the yells. The sound of glass shattering echoed in the somewhat silent hallway.

Maybe she should cut off ties with him. His flirting was getting over the top now. Her mind would explode soon enough.

Earsplitting music entered her eardrums gradually as she got closer to the heart of the club. The girl who was doing body shots was knocked out on the tables, and two guys were resting on her stomach and thighs. The rest of the people, who had been shouting boisterously, were all passed out on the floors or giggling hysterically to no one.

She let out a snort of disgust and nonchalantly stepped over a guy sleeping on his belly with his boxers exposed. She took back what she had thought about the people who were informed about the club. They were the same as all partying freaks: immature, loud, and stupid.

Gwen sat down on one of the bar stools and ordered a glass of wine. She looked left and right; she perceived that she was literally the only one sitting down at the bar. Everyone else was having the time of their lives, getting wasted, doing outrageous actions, and, of course, having drunk sex with some stranger.

This was one of the main reasons why Gwen didn't go partying or out clubbing. She didn't fit in with these people. Sure she drank alcoholic beverages and did some shots, but she wouldn't do _belly_ shots or get insanely intoxicated. She wouldn't go to the middle of the dance floor and shake her body so explicitly or dance incredibly close to a random guy until her butt was rubbing against his crotch. She wouldn't go and have sexual intercourse with someone she didn't know at all. She wouldn't do any of that.

She let out a breath. The bartender slid her the glass of wine, and she instantly drank it.

Pixie Corpse, Marilyn, and Reaper were her kind of friends. They certainly wouldn't do extreme actions, but they enjoyed partying quite a bit. Although they preferred having a small crazy party all to themselves, they still did love partying and having psychotic fun.

Gwen liked having fun, but … well, she considered herself as a boring person. Even if the party was just with her friends only, she seriously wouldn't know what to do. She didn't have an entertaining personality, so how could she get the party, no matter how _small _it was, going?

She faced the people dancing. Their wide smiles and bright moods made her feel quite envious. She wondered why she couldn't be like those girls who weren't afraid to flaunt their assets – not in a provocative way but rather in a sexy way – and party hard.

She swiveled the bar stool, refusing to keep on staring longingly at the dancers. She was being so uncharacteristic, and it was bugging the hell out of her. Maybe she was starting to get buzzed from all the wine she consumed. But then again, she didn't drink as much.

"Hey, sunshine – can I buy you a drink?" a flirtatious voice spoke behind her.

Gwen sighed. She reluctantly spun around the stool and faced the man who was apparently trying to get in her pants – or, in this case, her skirt.

Her eyes widened largely, onyxes exposed profoundly.

Duncan's teal eyes widened just a bit, as well. He gave her a look. He evaluated her appearance quickly, focusing on her black attire, which she wouldn't blame him for doing. She was wearing a corset that was incredibly tight and stopped a few inches above her bellybutton. She also wore a miniskirt that stopped at her mid-thigh and long combat boots, which was all the way up to the top of her knee. She then saw his eyes go to her face.

His response shocked her to the core. "Well, well, well. Looks like teachers do have a dark side," he said, smirking.

"Wha – What the hell are you doing here, Duncan?" Gwen stammered. "You're underage; you're not supposed to be here."

He ignored her last statement and took a seat next to her. He grabbed her neglected glass of wine and downed it in one gulp. She gasped and glowered at him. She was about to snatch the glass back, but he already finished it so quickly. She watched his face contort into disgust.

"Damn, that thing tastes like shit," he commented, still grimacing. He beckoned the bartender over and ordered a bottle of beer.

She knew she was in deep, deep trouble. As a teacher, she wasn't allowed to be seen in such places, and obviously she wasn't supposed to be wearing such provocative clothing. And since she saw Duncan at this place – out of all underground clubs, why did he have to appear _here_? – she was responsible for his safety. Or she actually wasn't since he was eighteen and all, but still – she was responsible for him now.

_As if my night couldn't get any worse. Great_, Gwen thought bitterly, narrowing her eyes at Duncan.

"Let me ask you again, Duncan: what the _hell _are you doing here?" she practically snapped at him.

The delinquent faced her. "Whoa, what's with the attitude, babe? I'm just here for a bit of fun, which is obvious since this is a _club_." The bartender arrived with his drink, and Duncan accepted it with a grin. He immediately took a swig of his drink.

Okay, so she shouldn't be worrying that much. She wasn't really responsible for him. They were outside school grounds. She wasn't a teacher right now. He wasn't a student right now. They were strangers to each other. She had nothing to do with him.

The bartender poured some wine in her glass. She drank it little by little. At times, she would glance at Duncan from her peripheral vision. He wasn't looking at her. He was merely downing his drink casually, in his own little world.

"What brings you here?" he inquired.

"You don't need to know," Gwen answered back simply. She wasn't going to share any information with him whatsoever. She shouldn't even interact with him.

"Here to get wasted and screwed?" He smirked.

She didn't acknowledge him and resumed sipping her wine. She checked her cell for the time and saw that it wasn't even midnight yet. She sighed and put her cell back.

Gwen started staring at him again. She wondered if he was going to tell on her. She wondered if he was the type to rat her out. She had a slight feeling he would. She saw how much he liked to torture people's lives for the hell of it. Even though she was older than him, she wouldn't be an exception.

Actually, she wouldn't mind him tattling on her.

She hissed through her teeth. She desperately wanted to be an art teacher, though.

She took out a twenty dollar bill and slammed it on the counter. She gestured towards the bartender that this was her pay. She got up on the stool and started leaving the club. She didn't want to be here, so why was she staying? There was no sole purpose of her staying. She was pissed off at Reaper, and she didn't want to be around her student. She couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen on Monday and Duncan saw her. She would be the shame and laughingstock of the school. The last thing she needed _ever _was being the center of attention.

A calloused hand enclosed around her tiny wrist. She saw Duncan beside her.

"Where you goin'?" he asked.

She pried her wrist out of his grip instantly. "Home. Why, you want to come?" she said sarcastically.

He grinned playfully. "Sure. I'll show you a fun time."

_God, he's just like Reaper. _"I'm your teacher, Duncan. You can't go and flirt around with me like that."

"Psh, you're not my teacher _now_, right? And anyways, no one will know." He winked at her.

His flirting was so _forward_. He was so confident with his words. But she didn't let it affect her. She saw him play around with other girls at school for fun. It wasn't like he meant it or anything.

"I'm twenty-seven-years-old. You're practically my little brother's age." She was lying. Her brother was only four years younger than her.

He shrugged, not seeming to care. "Maybe I like older women."

She didn't know why. She had absolutely no idea why … but maybe it was that look in his eyes. There was an attractive glint in his eyes whenever he talked to her and looked at her. She had this strange feeling inside her. And she couldn't blame the guy. He was hot. She would've had a crush on him if she was his age. Maybe.

Gwen quickened her pace. She entered the dark room again. She made sure to go straight ahead. The door abruptly opened, and she embraced the freedom. Unfortunately, Duncan was hot at her heels.

"I'm just kidding, Matthews," Duncan said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked alongside her.

"So what then, are you going to rat me out?" Gwen asked. Her tone was sharp, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because she felt slightly panicky over the fact that he _might _tell on her. He might even broadcast it to the entire student body – to _everyone_. She didn't want that attention. Again, she hated attention.

He gave her a look. "Why would I do that? That's freakin' messed up."

Her eyes expanded. "Really? You won't?"

He smirked. "I might."

She punched his arm playfully. "Don't mess around with me, Duncan. You're not going to, right?"

He put his right hand over his chest and nodded, still grinning. "Punk's honor. On one condition, though."

"What?"

"My grade's are slippin' in your class. My dad's gonna be biting my ass for it, and I sure as hell don't want to take summer school to pick up my grades. I wanna graduate and get out of this hellhole already." He rubbed his palms together fast, cupped them together, and blew in it. "Damn, it's cold."

Gwen furrowed her eyebrows. "Why don't you drop out then?"

He chuckled. "I thought about doing that around my junior year, but my ma wouldn't like that. She made a deal with me, actually. My parents are cops – pretty much my entire family are cops – and of course they'd expect me to be like them. But since I prefer rackin' up trouble, they know it's not possible for me to be one. I don't _want _to be one, anyways. And 'cause of that, my ma said if I at least graduated high school, she'd stop my dad from bugging me to be a cop like them."

"Wait, I don't understand. You're a total troublemaker."

Duncan smirked. "That I am, honey."

"And since you are one, why is your dad making you want to be a cop like him? It makes no sense. I wouldn't be surprised if he would send you straight to boot camp or something like that."

He shrugged. "The old man's a whackjob. I guess he thinks being one will teach me discipline. I already went to Juvie. Going there didn't do anything to me – just made me smarter."

Gwen's eyes widened. How many times had it widened tonight? "You've been to Juvie?"

"Yeah, around my freshman year."

"For what?"

"You don't need to know." His tone changed; it became a bit serious. It seemed as if it was deeply personal. She wasn't allowed to know.

"All right then." If he would tell her, then he would tell her. But he wouldn't, because they had no relation towards each other _at all_.

Without her noticing immediately, they arrived in front of her car. She took out her keys from her pocket and pressed the button, unlocking it. She opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat. The passenger side's door opened and in came Duncan.

"You expect me to drop you home?" Gwen questioned. "Seeing each other at the club is enough as is."

He waved her off with his hand. "Stop worrying already. I told you I wasn't going to tell anyone. Now go and start the car. I'll give you the directions to my house. Just don't park near so my parents don't see you. If they're there, anyways," he said. He laid his head against the headrest and got comfortable.

The drive to his house was quiet. It was a mixture of two silences: awkward and serene. It was awkward, because she was in the same car with an eighteen-year-old so late at night. She was very uncomfortable just being near him in utter solitude, and there he was, looking so calm and collected as if this happened everyday for him. It was serene, because the silence made her head settle down. So many worries clouded her mind, and she needed some peace to stop thinking about everything all at once.

Duncan started to talk with her. He would joke around, flirt with her, and laugh at her replies. He grinned throughout the ride. His face, though lazy-looking and slightly intimidating to most, was bright. The lost look she had seen during the first day of work didn't seem like it was there anymore. His teal eyes twinkled with the moonlight as he laughed.

Gwen felt herself smiling. He was an all right guy. Getting past his obnoxious behavior, he had a laidback and cool personality. He wasn't too serious. He was the type of guy she definitely wouldn't mind befriending and becoming close with.

"Stop here," Duncan said as she came up across a pickup truck. He sat up and opened the car door. He turned around, placed his hand on the edge of the door, and leaned down to face Gwen properly.

"Go home now, Duncan," Gwen ordered him.

He jokingly saluted her. "Yes, ma'am! But remember: the deal we made."

"I'm not changing your grades, but I'll help you with your work if you need me to."

He sighed dramatically. "Well, if you wanna do it the hard way … " He trailed off.

She rolled her eyes. "Good_bye_, Duncan."

A smirk danced its way slyly on his lips. "Bye, _Gwen_." He shut the door close and walked away.

And, for the umpteenth time, her eyes widened. _How does he know my name? This guy … is so strange._

Gwen was about to drive forward when she saw a silhouette up ahead. There was a short person standing next to a street sign. The person then turned away, ran, and disappeared into the dark streets.

* * *

><p><strong>AN —**

**Booo-_riiiiing_.**

**Er, well, I _hope _it isn't.**

**The drama starts in the next chapter. Hopefully, you all stay tuned and wait ever so patiently.**

**In advance, I'd like to apologize for my _slow _updating. I tend to get lazy, I'm busy, and writer's blocks hit me in the face _all the freakin' time_. It sucks a lot of wrinkly butts and rotten lollipops. Freakin' crap, man.**

**Hope you guys had a superb 4th of July ~ !**


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